If you want me
by Mrs.Dickens713
Summary: A series of drabbles pertaining to the upcoming wedding/wedding night of Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. A vain attempt to retrieve some small portion of my life back. M rating for...who am I kidding?
1. Chapter 1

**1**

 _"If you want me, you can have me."_

How those words played in his mind, often at the most inconvenient times. Only this morning he'd been surprised to find himself pouring juice for his lordship; he'd been jolted out of a reverie concerning his bride by a mundane question from one of the ladies.

He'd given the matter a great deal of thought. Of course he had. He'd planned, meticulously, their first kiss, their first evening as a married couple, their first night together. He'd wondered if he'd not got the wrong end of the stick when she began putting him off, but he put it down to nerves. He hadn't considered the situation from her point of view. Odd, really, for a man who spent a lifetime putting the needs of others above his own. He selfishly imagined her delight at their impending marriage and all that it would entail. When Mrs. Patmore confronted him on behalf of Mrs. Hughes, he'd been well and truly shocked. How could Mrs. Hughes, who knew him better than anyone, doubt the sincerity of his intentions? How could she failed to have realized how awfully he did want her? But she had, and in her distress she'd sent an emissary to discover the nature of their impending marriage.

In that split second between extreme embarrassment and anger, he decided to be honest. Painfully so. She should know what she was getting herself into. He could smile now at the memory. He had touched her, kissed her, as he had longed to do, and she had kissed him back. The delightful little sigh she uttered had not escaped his attention.

He sighed and shifted about in his cramped bed, which hadn't felt quite so cramped in many a long year.

 **TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N 1: SPOILERS ABOUND. I'm sorry I neglected to mention that in my earlier post.**

2

He watched in despair as she left his pantry. How he wanted her. And after settling that matter, now they were at odds over the blasted reception. He longed to touch her, to smooth away her concerns with gentle hands, to press her lovingly against him, but he dared not. His equilibrium was not yet disturbed beyond repair, but he was only a man. An honorable one, to be sure, but a man nevertheless. Knowing she would give herself to him fully in just under three weeks was a thought he wrestled with continually. To be so close to a perfect union, as perfect as anything could be on earth, and to find them so divided about such a seemingly trivial issue left him baffled.

He simply couldn't understand her reluctance to hold their wedding feast at the Abbey. They had lived and worked amongst grand things for donkey's years. Why shouldn't she be feted in an appropriate setting on the most important day of their lives? She was a beautiful woman (he'd privately considered her the loveliest woman of his acquaintance for some time) and she belonged among beautiful things. Certainly they were not equals of the Crawley family, but they had a dignity and respect all their own, the greater perhaps because those qualities had been earned.

He sat bolt upright in his chair; he could feel his face flush. Of course. _Of course_. How could he have been so stupid? By dint of hard work, both individually and together, they had attained the peak of their respective professions. It was only right that Mrs. Hughes ( _Elsie_ ) would want such a thing reflected in their wedding. They had no need of borrowed grandeur. They'd created their own.

He'd been a colossal ass.

But how to make this right?

 **A/N2: FYI: I actually enjoyed episode 2, though I could have done with more Chelsie (always). I thought they were both in character. It would seem perfectly natural to Charles that the family host their wedding reception upstairs , and it is perfectly natural that Elsie would prefer to have their wedding day reflect who they are. That small outburst of "I'm the bride" I think shows her discomfort at being the center of attention and not even gaining the benefit of the attention, meaning that she can't do as she pleases on the one day of her life that is purported to be the most important. Anyway, all that to say that I don't agree with Charles' assessment of himself as an ass (in this story) at all. I think he generally takes the blame in any argument with Elsie (save any argument to do with Lady Mary) because he truly cannot bear to be out of sync with her. Basically just playing around and having fun, as I don't own these two and never will. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Your kind words mean so much.**


	3. Chapter 3

3

 _My darling,_

 _I feel I must be as transparent as the panes in the library to you, who knows me so well. And it is true, you know Charles Carson, butler of Downton Abbey, incomparably well. So well, in fact, that I assumed you knew the man behind the style and show equally so, the man whose heart you woke from a dark and dreamless sleep. I was mistaken._

 _It is no surprise that Downton Abbey and its inhabitants are of great significance to me. It is a beautiful and stately home, with all the dignity and respect that should be accorded to such a grand and venerable place. It is where I grew up. It is where I returned to lick my London wounds. It is where I buried my heart, and where you revived it. But it is only a place, and the family, upstairs and down, though important, cannot overshadow you. You are a jewel, and my desire for the most elegant situation momentarily obscured my desire to please you as a man and a husband. Where we host our reception is unimportant to me, so long as you are beside me. You will sparkle in any setting._

 _You are a proud woman, Mrs. Hughes, a natural pride that arises from your many and varied accomplishments. That a woman of your inestimable worth should consent to be my wife leaves me feeling giddy as a schoolboy, and quite astonishingly happy. I've not yet spoken the words to you, and I shan't cheat and make such a declaration in a letter. I will tell you, my dearest, as we spend our first precious hours together as husband and wife. I wonder what you might tell me. I long for that moment, as I long for you._

 _Yours,_

 _CC_

 **A/N: It was so hard to stick to drabble length for this letter. There was so much Charles wanted to write! Thank you for your kind reviews. I'm enjoying writing this story and I'm so happy that you are enjoying reading it.**


	4. Chapter 4

4

Elsie's hands trembled and she felt tears rising as she read through the letter for the third time. She would sparkle in any setting? He longed for her? She had never received such words ever.

 _The dear, sweet man._

But more than that, he respected her. He understood her. Suddenly, three weeks seemed very long indeed. She heard his familiar tread in the corridor and hastily wiped her eyes before turning to greet him.

His dear, lovely face was frowning in concern. He gestured aimlessly at the letter in her hand. "You've read it, I suppose?"

"Aye, Mr. Carson. I've read it through more than once." She could feel the words forming in her mouth, the long vowels, the sounds of home she'd worked so diligently to soften. How strange that he should be the one to resurrect those sounds. She felt her face flush. Perhaps not so strange after all.

"And?"

"And I'm quite overcome. I find I don't know what to say."

"But you're not upset? Anymore?"

She made her voice long and low. "No. No, Mr. Carson, I'm not upset any longer." She walked toward him. "I'm more pleased than I can say here."

She smiled as he tugged at his waistcoat, such a familiar gesture that she felt the tears rise again. "So we'll make the arrangements, then? I could drop in on the headmaster tomorrow. If that suits?"

She nodded and took a step closer. "It does, Mr. Carson."

He smiled then. "Good. Very good."

"Yes, very good."

"Well. I must be getting on."

"Yes." She took a chance, reached for his hand and squeezed it. His eyebrows rose in shock, then acquiescence as he quickly lifted her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss there.

No, she thought. Three weeks couldn't come soon enough.

 **A/N: Your reviews have been so wonderful. I appreciate them all so much. It's strange. I always felt more comfortable writing Elsie. She was always the one to crack at Charles' façade. Now the tables have turned and Charles is the easy one to write. He's finally letting his romance fly. The words are fairly flying from his mouth. Only two more sleeps until CHELSIE WEDDING! Thank you all for making this fandom such a wonderful, glorious experience.**


	5. Chapter 5

5

 **A/N: A time jump here. We've conveniently fast-forwarded to the wedding eve from Charles' perspective.**

He sat for a moment on his bed, _his old bed_ , he silently corrected, and absently smoothed the sheets. This time tomorrow he'd be a married man. He could scarcely believe his good fortune. The woman he loved loved him. He smiled at the memory, a lifetime ago it seemed. Even then he'd suspected that he wasn't really talking of Alice Neale, but of the woman who'd truly stolen his heart away. _So much I could taste it._ How could he ever have compared that empty infatuation of his youth with the deep and abiding love he felt for Mrs. Hughes? _Elsie_. Tomorrow he would speak her name, her full name, including the charming middle name he'd discovered just yesterday. And she would speak his, then Reverend Travis would speak the words that would bind them before the congregation so that even God himself couldn't part them.

He imagined her saying his name, Charles Ernest, in her low, lilting voice. Suddenly he was reminded of her earliest days at Downton. He remembered being incensed that Mrs. Cooper would hire an almost "unintelligible foreigner" to serve as head housemaid, much less someday fill the older woman's shoes. He'd been in quite a temper with Mrs. Cooper, and he was never quite certain that Elsie, as she was then, hadn't overheard his outburst, but from that day on, he noted that she took particular care when speaking to him. Before long she'd moderated her speech to sound, if not English, then much less Scottish. It had pleased him then, for at the time he valued correctness and propriety above all things. He couldn't have imagined the very great joy he would receive in hearing her revert to her former manner of speaking. He sent a silent prayer of thanksgiving that he wasn't that man anymore.

 **A/N: Tomorrow my fantasy wedding, but more importantly, the REAL DEAL. I hope my family knows to expect nothing of consequence from me for at least a week while I watch, rewatch and attempt to regain my sanity. It's happening!**


	6. Chapter 6

6

His palms were slick and his mouth dry as yesterday's toast. No matter how pragmatic he'd been during his conversation with Mrs. Patmore, this was different. This was real and it was happening now. Or would be happening soon. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully. His hand grasped reflexively at his waistcoat, but he only managed to loosen the ties of his dressing gown.

His wife ( _his wife_ ) was at this moment preparing herself for bed. With him. To share his bed. He licked his lips nervously; he'd never had a proper encounter with a woman. He could almost imagine those few youthful dalliances had happened to someone else. Still, he knew what to expect, more so than his bride, and he was desperate to please her.

He had a sudden vision of her walking down the aisle. Though for years he'd made a pretense of frowning on such romantic nonsense, his heart quite literally stopped as he watched her walk toward him. He'd privately considered her beautiful for decades, but today she was… resplendent. He'd never seen her look lovelier and he felt a sudden burst of pride that she should have chosen him. Tears had sprung to his eyes and he hoped she would forgive a foolish old man his sentimentality.

She, of course, was serene and lovely, with no apparent show of nerves, save the gentle trembling of the flowers she clutched in her hands. She met his eyes bravely and spoke her vows in a clear, ringing voice. He feared he'd lost his voice, but a gentle smile from her soon put him right.

And now they were married. Husband and wife. One flesh.

Years of patient waiting, attuned to the subtlest change in atmosphere, had given him an almost sixth sense. He arranged himself in what he hoped was an attitude of loving calm as his wife entered the room.

 **A/N: Guys, I went over by 12 words, but I just couldn't bring myself to kill any of these darlings. Chelsie love to you all on this historic Sunday.**


	7. Chapter 7

7

The room was still, silent, in spite of the noise from the busy street below. Charles took a moment to fix the scene in his mind; he wanted to remember every detail.

Elsie's hair still held its soft waves, but she'd unpinned and plaited it. Never in all their years together had he seen it unbound. It was longer than he expected, and he could see silver threads highlighted against the deeper auburn. He wondered briefly if she might let him run his fingers through it.

Her face was scrubbed clean, devoid of the face powder and lip rouge he'd noticed earlier. Making up had only served to heighten Elsie's natural beauty, and though he had thought her exceedingly lovely today, tonight he was relieved to see her dear familiar face.

He glanced over her nightclothes and smiled inwardly-they covered more of her than the wedding frock she'd just changed out of! He'd considered quietly offering her a small sum that would allow her to purchase a few trousseau items in advance of their wedding, but after a great deal of deliberation he decided against it. He could wait until they were married and spoil her properly then. Perhaps he could persuade her to purchase something while they were in York…

Elsie shifted nervously; he could see she was growing more uncertain as the silence lengthened.

"Hello Elsie," he said softly.

She smiled weakly. "Hello."

He gestured to the two glasses of port on the small table and the chairs he'd arranged. "Would you care for a nightcap?"

She nodded, walked across the room and sat down as he handed her a glass. He sat as well before raising a toast to her. "A h-uile la sona dhuibh's gun la idir dona dhuibh!"

His bride looked shocked, then broke into a fit of laughter. "Charles, what was that?"

 **A/N: They are married. They are married. They are married.**


	8. Chapter 8

8

"What did I say? It wasn't…it wasn't anything… vulgar?"

Her laughter stopped abruptly. "I'm sure not," she soothed. "I couldn't actually understand _what_ you said."

He smiled sheepishly. "I asked Dr. Clarkson to teach me a traditional Gaelic blessing." His face darkened. "You're sure it wasn't vulgar?"

"I'm sure, Mr. Carson." She cupped his cheek. "Charles."

He moved so that their knees were touching. He took the glass from her hand and placed both hers and his on the table. Gently, he placed his hands on her thighs, leaned forward and kissed her.

He'd kissed her only twice in their lives, once privately and once publicly. Both of those kisses had been governed by time and circumstance. This kiss was under neither restriction. Now he was able to kiss her any time she liked. He opened his mouth against hers and allowed his tongue to trace the outline of her lips. She opened her mouth in surprise, and he felt her tongue against his. It was quite possibly the most thrilling moment of his life. As he leaned forward, she pulled away, breaking their kiss.

She was trembling. He reached for her hands and grasped them in his. "I won't press you," he whispered huskily. She looked at their hands, then met his eyes bravely and stood, pulling him up with her.

He raised his eyebrows; she nodded her head slightly. He carefully loosened the ties of her dressing gown and slid it off her shoulders. He folded it neatly across the back of a chair, then bent to kiss her again, this time allowing his hands to run along her back and waist. At last he could feel those curves he'd never permitted himself to imagine. They embraced more closely still, his wife winding her arms around his neck.

"Charles," she whispered between kisses, "take me to bed."

 **A/N: I'm still a mess from the wedding. I can't even contemplate the honeymoon in Scarborough. Ok, I can, actually. More tomorrow. Thanks for the wonderful reviews, follows and favorites. It's a wonderful time to be a Chelsie shipper.**


	9. Chapter 9

9

Charles inhaled sharply and took an involuntary step back. What? What had she said? Could she really mean such a thing? Then he saw her face creasing in apprehension and he couldn't bear that she might believe him to be shocked or disapproving. How could he? His brave, beautiful wife.

He wanted to squeeze her, crush her to him, sweep her into his arms and charge them toward that ridiculously large bed and love her as a man of twenty years younger might. Or at least ten.

Instead, he cupped her face in his hands, as he had that night in his pantry, and kissed her, hoping to pour the depths of his love and affection for her into one simple kiss.

 _I love you. I want you terribly. I have always, and I'm sorrier than I can say that I ever left you in doubt._

He felt her relax under his hands and he twisted his fingers in some of the loose tendrils of hair around her face.

He let his hands slide down her shoulders and along her arms, grasping her by the elbows. He allowed the merest space between them. "If you're sure?"

She looked into his eyes and took a deep breath. "I have never been more sure of anything."

*CE*

The feel of her skin against his was like silk, like velvet. He had persuaded her to loosen her hair, and it was spread across the pillows in a glorious tangle of silky curls. Her small hands were stroking his shoulders, his chest, and her lips were pressed against his neck, his collarbone. He had never experienced such pleasure. He moved within her as slowly and gently as he could manage, all the while crooning softly _I love you I love you I love you._


	10. Chapter 10

10

Elsie lay quietly, listening to the soft breathing and occasional murmurings of her husband. _Her husband_. She could hardly believe she was in a hotel room in York on her wedding night, lying securely in her husband's arms, his face nestled against her breast.

It had been…nice. She couldn't quite understand what all the fuss was about, though it was very pleasant to be kissed, and she doubted she would ever forget that feeling of being pressed against Charles without a stitch of clothing between them. It reminded her of one of the few times she'd ever received a jolt of electricity, years ago when electric lights had first been installed at Downton.

Charles had certainly seemed to enjoy it. His moans and soft exclamations made her feel curiously powerful. She was glad to have given him such pleasure. She'd fretted needlessly, as Beryl had tried to tell her. She _had_ been stupid. Why, they could have been married months ago!

No matter, though. There were married now, and she would quite happily comply with his wish to be intimate as often as he liked. It had been painful at first, as he'd whispered, but he'd done his best to alleviate any discomfort.

She found she rather liked the feel of him over her and inside her, though she flushed hotly to admit it, thankful anew that Charles had put the lights out before…well, before. It was very considerate.

He'd paused as he felt the scar on her breast. He said nothing, merely stroked it and let out a great, shuddering breath. Then he kissed her fiercely (there was no other word for it), as if to prove to them both that she was still here, still warm and alive and real.

He was a very, very dear man.

 **A/N: I have a handful of scenes left in my mind's eye. Thank you for reading and reviewing. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I think the Carsons will truly demonstrate that old adage of a married couple becoming a new creation. I look forward to watching them navigate being married at Downton.**


	11. Chapter 11

"How long have you known?"

To her credit, she didn't offer the coquetry of misunderstanding; she merely settled herself more contentedly in his arms.

"I suspected during that dreadful Haxby business, but I _knew_ after Mrs. Patmore told you that I was…in good health." She pulled up the sheets around her breasts reflexively. "I heard you singing in your pantry."

"You did? I wonder why I didn't come to you then?" He tightened his grasp on her. "I wish I had."

She stroked his arm. "You got there in the end."

He felt her smile against his shoulder. "I suppose I did, though even you were surprised by my proposal!"

"I just never expected-"

"But that's the point," he interrupted gently. "You of all people should have known. I should have made myself known to you."

"You did, Charles, and now we're here."

He felt her face turn slightly into his neck. This whole business had shown him a delicate, even fragile side to his Mrs. Hughes, and he was delighted and touched to be the man to witness it.

He leaned closer to murmur in her ear. "And how do you find here?" He felt her tense in his arms. He rubbed soothing circles across her shoulders and back. "I was only teasing, my darling."

"I know that. It's just hard for me to speak of such things, though I do hope you know…"

"Know what, my darling?"

She moved so that she could look into his eyes. "How very, very much I love you."

Tears sprang to his eyes and he dashed them away almost angrily. When had he become such a weepy old man? But this was no small thing. She'd shown her love for him in myriad ways over the years, communicated it to him through shy glances, but to hear her declaration caused his own heart to bloom anew.

She stroked his face and kissed him. "I love you, my man. I do." Her tears mingled with his as they kissed and caressed in the light of the rising sun.

 **A/N: I went over again, but I could not bear to stop them before Elsie could say the words I love you. I wish we could hear them say that to one another. I suppose there is always the chance of a honeymoon scene. After the embarrassment of riches in season 6, I feel very ungrateful asking for more, but there you have it. I can't thank you enough for letting me know how much you enjoy this story. I love to imagine them in different settings/scenarios and it's so much more fun to do so with you all.**


	12. Chapter 12

12

She was so warm and soft, she smelled so delightful, she was in his bed, and she loved him. He rose to her almost immediately.

Charles cradled her face in his, a question in his eyes. Elsie bit her bottom lip and nodded. Had she any idea how much that simple gesture moved him? It was, he could think it now, extremely erotic.

Gently, he teased her lip with his tongue and heard her gasp in what he desperately hoped was pleasure. He had enjoyed their intimacy well beyond the self-imposed limits of his imagination, but he knew enough of women to know that she had not. He had been as careful as possible, but he'd known he couldn't avoid causing her some pain. She had kissed him and smiled after, though, stroked his shoulders and back in small soothing circles as he fought against sleep. For him, at least, it had been sublime.

This time, he was determined that she experience at least some of the pleasure he had received. He wanted his wife to want to make love with him, to desire him as much as he desired her.

He touched her then, in the pale morning light, gently, leisurely. He listened and adapted: a whisper light touch here, a firmer grasp there. She was trembling beneath him, and he felt her warm breath on his neck, her cool hands along his back.

 _With my body I thee worship_ … it was a form of worship, it was sacred; the hush of the room and the quality of light only confirmed to Charles that God had granted him the special favor of loving and of being loved by this remarkable woman.

They moved together, the only sound a gentle, wordless murmuring of love and joy and passion.

 _TBC_

 **A/N: Thank you.**


	13. Chapter 13

13

Charles' life, dictated first by his own natural reserve and then by his position, had been lonely. An only child who'd been compelled to leave the village school sooner than most, he'd found it difficult to form friendships. His mother, a gentle soul whose life had been marred by the painful consequences of a disastrous marriage*, had cautioned him to keep himself to himself, and he'd followed her advice since he was a young boy. Work. Hard work was all there could be to life, until he'd met Grigg, that is, and been seduced by the promise of easy living filled with camaraderie and, he could admit it now, women.

He must have been a contemptibly easy mark for such an experienced con man. He had often wondered what it was about him that had attracted Griggs' notice, finally deciding it had been Charles' integrity. Grigg needed a partner whose general behavior was above reproach. Though he regretted his few liaisons, he'd avoided additional regrets of dishonesty and thievery.

He had indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, at least until he met Alice Neale. To have devoted himself entirely to her happiness only to be thrown over for a man such as Grigg had been the final nail that sealed his heart inside its coffin.

He'd thought himself incapable of loving another woman and instead devoted himself to the family who had rejoiced at his return, if not quite in the style of the prodigal son, at least in the sincerity of it.

He'd thought to die in harness and haunt the halls ever after. He hadn't planned for the sleeping woman in his arms, whose fiery hair and sharp tongue had imperceptibly woken his sleeping heart. His heart was filled with such love (and passion) for her that it was impossible to contain. He simply had to brook being happier than he deserved.

 **A/N: One of my favorite head canons of Charles Carson is from Chelsie Dagger's marvelous fic Wading into the Unknown. I don't want to spoil it for you if you've not read it. Who am I kidding? We shippers have read ALL the Chelsie fics. Anyway, I love how she creates elements from his past that contribute to the lovely, sometimes stubborn man our Elsie fell in love with. The last line is adapted from a favorite novel, Persuasion by Jane Austen, another work I suspect most Chelsie fanatics are familiar with. You guys are the best.**


	14. Chapter 14

14

Elsie studied her reflection in the glass critically. She attempted to hold the severe expression she might use when disciplining an errant maid, but failed. It was no use; she simply couldn't force her face into a scowl. She relaxed and allowed a wide grin to spread across her face. She was simply too happy.

After this morning, Elsie thought she could understand why Charles had called it "making love." She had felt overwhelmed by his love for her, consumed by it and he had touched her in a way that made her feel otherworldly. When he looked at her, he made her feel like a beautiful woman, a desirable woman, though the thought made her face flush in embarrassment. Not shame, though. Never that.

On her father's farm back in Argyll, there had been little to smile about. Her parents loved her and Becky too, but the living was hard and the land unforgiving. They clung to a faith that looked squarely at hardship and faced off against it. She understood from a very early age that what you couldn't provide for yourself, you couldn't have. Work. Hard work was all there was to life. The occasional joys of a good harvest or an upcoming ceiladh were not to be looked for or counted upon in day-to-day living.

Still, her childhood had been a happy one, and she entered service, though somewhat young, with her eyes open to the realities. She kept herself to herself and worked hard. Then she arrived at Downton, where the atmosphere could almost be described as familial. She fell in love at Downton, with the land, the opportunity, and the people, one man in particular. Oh, she'd lost her heart to Charles Carson years ago, and, though painful, had resigned herself to loving him in the small, quiet ways that were within her reach.

All that had changed now. The woman in the glass ( _Mrs. Carson_ ) was an entirely new creation. And she intended to live a full life in the years remaining to them both.


	15. Chapter 15

Carson was a man skilled in the art of misdirection. He could convince a room full of people that he was invisible until a slight gesture alerted him to a pressing need that someone in the room wasn't yet aware of himself. He could convince members of staff that he was an unfeeling ogre. And he had been able to convince himself that what he felt for Mrs. Hughes was simply the warmth and respect anyone would feel for a superlative colleague.

Charles, on the other hand, wore his heart on his sleeve. He couldn't be troubled to wipe the stupid grin from his face. He was married to the woman he loved and she loved him. Life, such as it was, could hardly be improved upon. Here he was, walking arm in arm with his wife on a beautiful afternoon in York, after a morning spent…well, he oughtn't indulge in thoughts such as those now. Now, he had a different agenda.

He cleared his throat, and his wife looked at him speculatively.

"I'm told there are several fine dress shops in York," he began carefully. "I shouldn't wonder if you wanted to take a look. "

She ducked her chin and tightened her grasp on his arm reflexively. _With all my worldly goods I thee endow_. It shouldn't bother her that she has no wordly goods to present to him. But it does; it bothers her a great deal.

Once they had agreed upon a date, he had shown her his personal ledgers and the accounting from the bank. He had put by a tidy sum, and she was proud of him. Together, they would earn quite enough to provide for their own needs as well as Becky's. The knowledge, instead of giving her pleasure, tasted like a bitter gall that threatened to taint all the joy their marriage could bring.

 **A/N: Apologies for the delay. I had a migraine yesterday and wasn't able to do much of anything.**


	16. Chapter 16

16

They sat in awkward silence, an unusual circumstance. Prior to their understanding, disagreements were generally tempests in teacups; they blew up, then away. This was different. They hadn't rowed, of course. She'd offended ( _hurt_ ) him by refusing his offer of a new dress, hat, whatever. She'd tried to explain on the street, but it was difficult, so she suggested they stop in at a tea shop whose sign she spotted at a most opportune moment.

He was avoiding her gaze, instead concentrating his efforts on flipping the curled tip of his napkin in a gesture of idle disdain, which she knew to be furthest from the truth. She knew his generous heart. How could she not? Hadn't she, of all people, benefitted most? That he loved her she had not a doubt. It pained her to think he now doubted the strength of her own feelings. She took in a sharp breath. This was ridiculous!

"Charles," she began firmly. He looked at her, and she broke under his gaze. "Charles," she began again, softly. She struggled to find the words. "I entered service when I was a young girl. All that time I've known I had a future…responsibility to Becky." She looked up at him, and he nodded gently. "Her care has been at the root of every decision I've ever made, save one." She took a deep breath. "I accepted your proposal selfishly, knowing I had nothing to offer you, knowing in fact that I and my sister would be a drain on your resources." As he made to interrupt, she held up a hand. "No, Charles, it's no use denying the truth." She lowered her voice. "I accepted you because I love you. I've loved you…for a very long time, I think." He reached for her hand, and she put hers in his, squeezing it. "But I cannot trespass any further on your generosity."

 _TBC_


	17. Chapter 17

17

 _Trespass further? Generosity?_ What the devil was she thinking? He'd done nothing for her as yet. They'd hardly been married 72 hours! He felt his temper rise. He'd restrained himself during their engagement and now that they were married, she was attempting to prevent him from attending to her needs as a good husband ought. It was insupportable. He withdrew his hand from hers and looked up, prepared to do battle with her as they used to, but the look on her face stopped him cold. Her chin was raised, yes, but her eyes pleaded with him for understanding. But how could he possibly… suddenly it all clicked into place. He cleared his throat.

"Elsie, do you remember our wedding vows?"

She looked at him as though he were simple. "Of course I do."

"Of particular interest to me was _obey_." He watched her straighten in her seat. "I wondered whether you would say it."

"It _is_ part of the vows," she said stiffly.

"But you thought I wouldn't insist on it?"

She nodded her head imperiously.

"Ordinarily I wouldn't, but I am your husband now, and I vowed, before God, to care for you as I would my own self. Indeed, better. Elsie, you call yourself a drain on my resources. Nothing could be further from the truth." A look from him silenced her. "No mere money could compare to what you've given me, in friendship and in love." He smiled gently at her. "We are one now, yes?" She bit her lip in that maddening way and nodded. "All that you have is mine?" Though her brow furrowed, she nodded again. "All that I have is yours?" She nodded and he saw tears sparkling in her lashes. "Good." He smiled. "I thought perhaps we might dine in a restaurant tonight."

She looked up at him through her lashes. "I rather thought we'd dine in this evening."

He shifted abruptly in his seat and nearly overturned the slight, fussy table. "I'll signal for the bill, shall I?"

Elsie smiled and nodded.


	18. Chapter 18

18

Never was he more grateful for years of self-imposed discipline than today. Apart from nearly knocking over that matchstick table in the tea shop, he had aped the perfect gentleman while settling their bill, helping his wife into her light spring coat and guiding her tenderly out the door. Never mind that he wanted to bellow and stamp like a bull during the age it took to navigate their way back to the small hotel room that had quickly become a private island. He wondered how on earth they (he) would manage back at Downton.

Once he returned to service, he had trained himself to ignore the female form. He'd had to; serving at those first few parties had taken every ounce of mental and physical discipline he'd cultivated over the years. Over time he mastered the art of being there without being there, a sort of half life, yet he'd imbued it with the sheen of grandeur because of the family and his position. It wasn't a bad life, but he knew, unlike the others (or so he'd believed), that there was more to life. He'd had a hell of a time burying that idea. In the end he had, or thought he had, until she arrived. Slowly, imperceptibly, she had wedged herself inside the single crack in his heart that he'd been unable to fill. She filled it so completely that he hadn't known where he ended and she began. He could silence that irritating voice that plagued him only on those sleepless nights; he could pretend his esteem resulted from her peerless work performance rather than the curve of her neck, the snap of her blue, blue eyes. But now, miraculously, she was his, and she wanted him just as he wanted her.

He opened the door to their room and ushered her gently inside.

 **A/N: Happy, happy Downton Day!**


	19. Chapter 19

19

The air in the room fairly sizzled with electricity as Elsie's bold statement at the tea shop hung between them. She risked a glance at his face; she could see desire written in his eyes, in the stiff sure line of his shoulders. His expression looked much as it had when he'd kissed her that first time. Though she'd been apprehensive at first, his lips touching hers soon seemed natural and gave her the most thrilling feeling in the world.

"May I take your coat?" he rumbled, startling her from her reverie.

"Of course," she murmured, turning her back to him and lifting her hands to undo the buttons. He surprised her by taking her shoulders, turning her to face him placing a gentle kiss on her lips as he deftly unbuttoned her coat.

She relaxed under his touch; this aspect of marriage was becoming familiar, though by no means routine.

She was learning to accustom herself to allowing wants, and allowing those wants to be met. It was all happening so quickly; the passion between them was fast and intense, like the description of rapids in the western United States that she'd read about in his Lordship's library. The only thing she felt any control over was their finances. She could prevent him from spending money foolishly on her. She could not prevent her body from responding to his, nor did she even want to try.

She kissed him passionately, pressing her body against his as she worked the buttons of her blouse open.

"Elsie," he groaned, and pushed her away.

"Don't you want me?" she asked in a small voice.

"More than I can express, but here, by the door? My God! I should at least let you hang your coat!"

She moved closer and whispered in his ear. "Is it vulgar to admit that I feel the same urgency?"

He caressed her face lovingly. "Elsie, you are my wife. There can be no vulgarity between us."

"Then hang my coat, my man, and be quick about it."

 **A/N: This is a terrible place to leave you hanging, and I do apologize. I will be out of town for a few days (Tues-Fri to be specific) and I won't be able to update at all. Just keep imagining honeymoon bliss and enjoy the frenzy of fics that will continue to arise from this delightfully wonderful and sometimes frustrating season.**


	20. Chapter 20

20

Reluctantly Charles released his wife, then hung her coat in the wardrobe. She unpinned her hat, set it aside hastily, then began removing her clothes.

Words had never come easily to her; she allowed her actions to speak for her. Hadn't their entire friendship been unspoken? What could she say? What could she ever have said? _Stay. I love you. Don't ever leave me._ They'd developed a means of communication, a very effective means, otherwise he would never have had the courage to take that final step, the dear man. But he had surprised her with his eloquence, particularly of late.

Her own heart was too full to speak on, so she must rely again on deeds.

When she was undressed to her shift, she hurried to the bed, pulled the covers back and lay back against the pillows.

Charles had stripped down to his undershirt and shorts. He walked to the bed, pausing only to turn off the lamp.

"Leave the light on."

She looked at his face, at the moment sporting an incredulous, yet delighted expression. She smiled back at him, hoping he could read what was in them, knowing that he could.

*CE*

His eyes roamed the places he'd mapped only with his hands, the tips of his fingers. Her skin was a marvel, creamy, yet with unexpected sprays of freckles dotted here and there. Her neck was longer than he'd thought, and her shoulders perfectly rounded; an image of her in a sumptuous evening gown of the style women wore many years ago sprang to mind, causing him to smile, even as he recalled the simple black costume of the housekeeper that could not disguise her loveliness.

She watched his face intently, closing her eyes only when his touch overwhelmed her. She wanted to look into his eyes as they moved together, to speak in that quiet language that only the two of them could understand. _I love you. All that I have is yours. I will give, and I'll take what I can._

In the warm lamplight they looked, and they loved.

 **A/N: So sorry for the delay. I was too tuckered out yesterday to write a word. Happy Downton Day!**


	21. Chapter 21

21

"What do you think it will be like?"

"What?"

"Returning to Downton."

He felt her smile against his chest. "Well, we certainly won't be lying abed all day!"

He chuckled and stroked her hair absently. How _was_ he to keep from touching her when they returned to the abbey? Making love to his wife was different, private. He certainly wasn't worried about ravishing her in the servants' hall, but he was concerned about absentmindedly reaching for her arm, stroking her fingers as he read the paper.

"Charles?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not worried, are you? You don't regret-"

"Regret?" He cupped her cheek. "I've never been happier in my life."

"But the family-"

"You're my family, Elsie. You and Becky."

"Oh, Charles," she breathed.

"You can't possibly imagine I've gone off you already?"

"Already? You make it sound a possibility."

"Never," he rumbled. "Only I've been thinking."

"About?"

"About how difficult it may be to return to work after our blissful honeymoon." Elsie looked at him expectantly. "I find I enjoy, more than I anticipated, the freedom to hold your hand, to put my hand at the curve of your back, to embrace you." He sighed. "I won't be as free to do those things while we're working."

"No, you won't." She smiled up at him. "You'll have to save those impulses for when we're alone. Truly alone, my dear."

"I feel I've already saved so many impulses where you're concerned. A few days in York is hardly enough time to give into them." He trailed his fingers along her shoulder. "How shall I ever manage back at Downton, knowing I've the right to hold you, but being unable to?"

"We'll manage as we've always done, Charles. Together. Certainly there won't be opportunities during working hours to indulge, but it will make our time alone the sweeter."

Charles leaned down to kiss her. "I love you, my darling." He kissed her again. "And if I understood you correctly, it is right and proper to make hay while the sun shines?"

Elsie smiled, a brilliant, beautiful smile that took his breath away. "I knew you'd get there in the end."

 **A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing. Your reviews really do make my day.**


	22. Chapter 22

22

Elsie thought she might never tire of watching his face as he slept, so peaceful she could almost imagine the boy he must have been: serious, but kind, with a hint of mischief in his unruly curls. He'd not slicked his hair back so severely in Scarborough, and she found she liked that very much.

Though she'd fallen in love with the butler, she was delighted to discover the man she'd suspected beneath the position: kind, generous, witty, with a passion that had surprised and unnerved her in the beginning. She stretched carefully beneath him, a tiny smile flitting at the edge of her mouth.

She'd not believed herself capable of inspiring such a reaction in any man, much less _Carson_. She rolled the word in her mouth, mimicking one of the Crawley ladies, Rosamund perhaps. She fought the urge to giggle ( _giggle_ ); she didn't want to spoil this moment . He often curled inside her arms after making love, his face pillowed on one her breasts, his breath tickling the hollow of her chest. She felt…complete, as though a part of herself she hadn't realized was missing had been snapped into place. They were two pieces of the same puzzle: duty, integrity, obligation. Only now could they explore want and desire and happiness.

It wouldn't be easy, of course. She knew that. The pull of decades of service was strong, and he was devoted to the Crawleys. But there was space enough for her to bloom and grow in his heart, just as there always had been. And he was a man, a Yorkshire man through and through, every bit as exacting as the earl, though Lord Grantham concealed it beneath an affable charm. Yes, things would be different once they returned to Downton, but she knew she could manage it (him), especially now they shared such a lovely secret.

 _A very loving brother and sister indeed._

 **A/N: I hope to have three more updates, then I'll conclude this story. I may revisit it after I digest cooking-gate in all its Charles-cluelessness/Elsie-sass glory. Thanks to you all for reading and reviewing and apologies for not responding to each of you individually.**


	23. Chapter 23

23

"Will you be sorry to leave Scarborough, my dear?"

She looked up into his face, squinting a bit in the afternoon sun. Her eyes were so very blue, and her smile a generous one.

It was a bright, beautiful afternoon, and they'd had a lovely paddle in the sea, holding hands just as they'd done the summer she'd come to London, the summer she'd been bold enough to offer her hand, and he'd been bold enough to take it. "A bit of both, I suppose."

"A bit of both?"

"I'll be sorry to leave a place that's become very dear to me, but happy to return to a place that will always be dear to me."

"How do you manage it?"

"Manage what?"

"To compliment me and soothe my ego simultaneously?"

She glanced sideways at him. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

He raised her hand to his lips. "And I'm sure you do." He paused to look out at the horizon. "It's lovely, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Not quite as hot as our last walk together on the beach." She smiled. "Whatever came over you that day?"

"What do you mean?"

"It was very forward of you to offer your hand," he said with mock gravity.

"I suppose."

"I don't know how, but you managed to make that sound a little risqué."

She laughed aloud, something she seldom did at Downton, and it was a lovely sound. He vowed to attempt to make Mrs. Carson laugh at least once a day.

"I've loved you for a long time, Mrs. Carson. I've only just now realized it."

"How fortunate for me."

"How fortunate for _me_."

He pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow and they walked on in contented silence.

He would persuade her to purchase at least something for herself before they went home. She must learn that she wasn't the only plotter in the family.

 **A/N: I edited chapter 22 and added a word I'd forgotten... Rosamund, perhaps. A minor issue, but it really bugged me. Hope you enjoy this next bit.**


	24. Chapter 24

24

Charles wanted the last evening of their honeymoon to be special, intimate. As much as he enjoyed escorting her around town, referring to her as his wife, he wanted their last evening to be spent alone. To that end, he'd arranged for a meal to be delivered to their room at precisely eight o'clock, along with a surprisingly good wine. He'd told Elsie only to dress for dinner, but her knowing smirk assured him that she had guessed at least part of his plan. No matter; she couldn't know the whole of it, in spite of her often devastating clairvoyance where he was concerned.

He heard the door to the bathing room click, and he stole a quick glance at the clock, though he needn't have. Half past seven exactly. He turned and made her a formal bow. "Good evening, Mrs. Carson."

She nodded in acknowledgment, a pleased and happy smile on her face. "Good evening, Mr. Carson. I'm ready at the appointed time, as you requested."

"Indeed. And might I add how very lovely you look." He noted the faint pinking of her cheeks, the gentle curve of her neck as she turned in embarrassment. Ah, well. He would have years to accustom her to receiving his compliments.

"I'll just get my coat, Charles, and we can be off."

"You'll have no need of your coat this evening."

"No? But I thought we were dining out."

As it happens, we're dining in this evening. I was given the idea recently." His brow furrowed. "I hope you don't mind?"

She smiled and walked toward him. "No, I don't mind."

A slight shiver went up his spine at her low, lilting voice, the voice that had for years encouraged him, soothed him, and lately sent him soaring. He smiled and walked toward her. "Our dinner will arrive at eight o'clock. I thought perhaps we might while away the time with a bit of dancing."

"But we've no music, Charles!"

"We'll make our own music, my dear." He settled her in his arms and began to waltz her around the tiny room, crooning in her ear.

 _I'm in love with a sweet little girlie,_

 _Only one, only one_

 _I meet her each morning quite early_

 _Rain or sun, rain or sun_

 _To work we go walking together_

 _Just as gay as can be_

 _We're truly two birds of a feather_

 _Just one little girl and me*_

 **A/N: This is a song called Just One Girl by Frank Butts. I chose it because it *might* have been a music hall song sung by a vaudeville act, and because it suited them so perfectly. I've long hoped for a scene where he performs some bit of his Cheerful Charlies act for her and I think we all want them to dance, for the love of Pete! I've not been very diligent about my self-imposed 300-word limit. I can't seem to curb my imagination with these two. The final chapter will, I hope, be posted tomorrow. Thanks so much for all your kind words and encouragement. I love being part of this fandom.**


	25. Chapter 25

25

 **A/N: Thank you.**

He dozed lightly on the train back to Downton, his wife's head a comfortable weight against his shoulder. Occasionally the movement of the train would jostle them awake and they would smile sleepily at one another. He longed to touch her face, to kiss her, but the car was no longer empty.

Memories from the preceding night played like a moving picture behind his eyes; was it wrong for him to think of such things _now_? How would he manage at work? He'd prided himself on his personal discipline, but he knew now that his resolve would be sorely tested. They had made love every night and even some mornings. He wasn't sure he'd have the energy for such frequent pursuits given his typical hours, but one never knew. Perhaps they could eat breakfast at home some mornings?

Every day with his wife brought some fresh joy, some new awareness; surely it would be the same once they returned home? He knew her now as no one else ever had, and it gave him a feeling of pride he'd never known. He determined to be a husband equal to her worth.*

As he gazed out the window, the landscape grew more familiar, and he took the liberty of waking his wife.

"We're nearly there, love."

She moaned quietly, a delightful sound that put him in mind of…never mind that now…and sat upright slowly. Smiling at him, she said, "That's the first time you've called me _love_."

"Is it?"

"Yes. You usually call me _my dear_ , sometimes even _darling_ , but never _love_. I like it," she said softly.

"Well, my love, we're very nearly home."

"Home," she sighed. "What a lovely word."

"It is, because it means you."

She tucked her chin in that bashful way she had, but her eyes never left his. He hoped she could read in them all he wasn't at liberty to say. At least not yet.

*CE*

He smiled with unabashed pride as he helped her from the train, looking radiant in her new hat.

 _The End_


End file.
